When Mercy Rains

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Mrs. Loepp tipped her face toward Mother. “We do. Why?”

  “I’d like to join you.”

  Mrs. Loepp bounced a look of surprise at Suzanne. “You would? But—but—”

  Mother laughed. It seemed a bit forced, but no one else appeared to notice. “I know my legs don’t work, but my hands still do. Do you need another quilter?”

  “Well, Abigail, of course we never turn down a pair of willing hands.” Mrs. Loepp turned businesslike. “We want to finish two more quilts before the Relief Sale quilt auction in September. But …” Color climbed the woman’s cheeks. “We meet in the basement. How …” She looked pointedly at Mother’s chair.

  “Suzanne knows how to get me down the stairs, don’t you, Suzanne?” Mother cast a glance over her shoulder, beaming.

  Suzanne, aware of Paul’s steady gaze on her, swallowed. “Yes, I do, although I’ll need some help.”

  “Alexa can help you.”

  “Yes, she can.” Suzanne spoke calmly even though her pulse raced as if she’d just finished a marathon. “But I’m not sure how long we’ll be in Arborville. So you can’t depend on us indefinitely.”

  Mother laughed again. The same oddly strained laugh she’d emitted a few minutes ago. “Well, now, we know you’ll be here at least another month, yes? Didn’t you take a two-month leave of absence? So you’ll be here four or five more weeks.”

  Suzanne came close to groaning. Fonda Loepp had no need for the information, so obviously Mother wanted someone else to know how long she’d be in town. And that someone else and his son both seemed to be listening intently. She would definitely have that talk with Mother.

  “So plan on me being with you Tuesday. I’ll even ask Alexa to bake a treat to share with everyone. She’s a marvelous baker.” Mother blathered on, almost sickeningly cheerful. “Just ask Paul and Danny here—they’ve sampled some of her baked goods.”

  Mrs. Loepp looked at Paul, who nodded. She turned back to Mother. “That sounds wonderful, Abigail. Of course we’ll be happy to have you … and your daughter and granddaughter … join us.” She offered a brief, warm smile to Suzanne before looking at Paul again. “Will you let me know when your schedule is clear? Ted and I are eager to make use of that shed again.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Loepp.” Paul curled his hand loosely around the back of Danny’s neck and aimed him for the front doors.

  Mother jerked her wheelchair directly into Paul’s pathway. “Lunch at Sandra’s today, remember?”

  Paul rubbed his chin, his dark-eyed gaze flitting in Suzanne’s direction, then landing on Mother. “I remember, but I think Danny and I are going to go home instead. Be lazy this afternoon.” He released a laugh that sounded as tight and forced as Mother’s had been. “We’ve earned it after the hours we put in at your place the past few days.”

  With Danny out of school, Paul had changed his working hours from eight in the morning until five or six in the evening instead of leaving at three. He had reason to enjoy a day of rest, but Suzanne suspected he had another reason for avoiding lunch with them.

  “But, Dad—”

  Mother cut Danny off. “I thought we agreed—”

  “I appreciate the invitation very much, Mrs. Zimmerman.” Paul spoke firmly, aiming a stern look at his son. “But you’ve been providing too many meals for us lately. I’ve nearly forgotten how to make a sandwich. So thank you, but we’re going home. Come on now, Danny.” He ushered his reluctant son up the aisle.

  Mother scowled after him. “That is a stubborn, stubborn man.”

  Suzanne raised one eyebrow and peered at her mother. “And you are a stubborn, stubborn woman.” She bent down and chose a gentle tone. “You can’t force something that no longer exists, Mother. It’s over. You need to accept it.”

  Her mother stared at her for several silent seconds, her lips pursed tight. Then she huffed and gave the wheels of her chair a push. “Let’s get to Sandra’s before Shelley throws a fit. You know how she has to keep to her schedule.” Suzanne, relieved to drop the subject, followed Mother.

  Clete and Harper were waiting on the porch, the brims of their hats blocking the noonday sun. Clete frowned. “What took you so long?”

  “Don’t fuss at me,” Mother snapped, sounding like Shelley again.

  Clete set his lips in a firm line and gestured for Harper to grab the other side of her wheelchair. The men carried the chair down the stairs and set it gently in the grass. Clete pushed Mother across the yard to her car, which Alexa had running with the air conditioning on high. Suzanne sent up a silent thank-you for her daughter’s consideration. She and Mother both needed to cool down.

  “I’ll transfer her—thanks, Clete.” Suzanne smiled at her brother, but he only grunted in reply and strode off toward his pickup truck where his family waited. Suzanne helped Mother into the seat, fastened her seat belt, then started to back out.

  Mother grabbed her hand, holding her in place. In a voice so whisper soft Suzanne might have imagined the words, she said, “You two created life together. It will never be over. You need to accept that.”

  Paul

  Until that morning if someone had asked him, “Paul, are you a coward?” he would have emphatically answered, “No.” But now? He wasn’t so sure.

  Danny scuffed along beside him, his head low and his toes kicking up dust as they walked home. His son’s dejected pose made Paul regret his decision to eat sandwiches at home rather than joining the Zimmerman family, but not enough to change his mind. He needed some distance between himself and Suzy—no matter what she said, he couldn’t think of her as Suzanne—until he managed to sort out his feelings toward her.

  Strange that he still had feelings for her. Marriage to Karina, raising Danny, building a business, just the act of living—shouldn’t all of that have erased those old feelings? Especially since she’d forgiven him? She’d said they were young, it was so long ago, they didn’t need to think about it anymore. And he’d agreed. So why had he found himself staring at her this morning? He sure wasn’t a teenager, but he acted like one, getting lost in the depths of Suzy Zimmerman’s crystal-blue eyes.

  Danny kicked a rock and it bounced against a mailbox post and ricocheted into the street again, sending up a tiny puff of dust. Paul frowned at his son. “Careful there. You don’t want to hit someone’s vehicle or house.”

  Danny poked out his lower lip and didn’t say anything.

  Paul nudged his shoulder. “Stop pouting. You’re too big for that.”

  Danny squinted upward. “Not trying to pout, but I’m mad. Can’t I be mad? God made emotions, so why can’t I use them?”

  Paul swallowed a chuckle. He would’ve asked the same kind of question when he was Danny’s age. He draped his arm across his son’s shoulders as they ambled along together, Danny stretching his stride to match Paul’s. “You’re right that God made emotions, and being mad is an honest feeling. So, yes, you can be angry. But remember the Bible tells us, ‘Be ye angry, and sin not.’ In other words, it’s okay to feel angry, but you shouldn’t let anger make you say or do things that would be hurtful.”

  “So I shouldn’t have kicked the rock.”

  Paul nodded.

  “Well … I’m sorry. I guess.”

  Paul coughed to cover another chuckle. At least Danny was honest.

  “But I don’t want to spend my whole summer with just you.”

  This time Paul let his laughter roll. He snagged Danny against his hip and chafed his son’s shoulder with his open palm. “Thanks, buddy. That really makes my day.”

  Danny grinned sheepishly. “That didn’t come out right. But I go with you to work at the Zimmerman farm where there aren’t any kids. And then on Sunday, we go home instead of going to somebody’s house where there’d be kids.” His scowl returned. “Did I make you mad when I asked you about Jay’s aunt? Is that why you won’t go eat with his family?”

  Sweat trickled down Paul’s temple. From the sun or from an inner heat inspired by thoug
hts of Suzy? He swept the dribble away with his fingertips. “I’m not mad at you. But I hope you haven’t spent any more time talking about Jay’s aunt.” He aimed a warning look at Danny. “Have you?”

  His son shook his head.

  Paul blew out a breath of relief as he guided Danny up the sidewalk to their house. “Good. As I said, I’m not mad at you, so don’t worry.”

  “Then are you mad at Jay’s aunt?”

  Paul paused at the base of the porch steps. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, Jay says—”

  “I thought you weren’t talking to Jay anymore about his aunt.”

  “I haven’t been talking, I’ve only been listening.”

  Paul closed his eyes, gathering patience. A child’s reasoning …

  “And Jay says his dad and his aunt Shelley are both really mad at his aunt Suzanne. But he doesn’t know why for sure. Something about her going away and causing trouble.” Danny angled his head. “So is that why you want to stay away from the Zimmermans except when you have to work at the farm? Because you’re mad at her, too?”

  Paul’s heart sank. He’d asked Suzy’s forgiveness, but it seemed there were a few other people who would benefit from his apology for playing a role in Suzy’s leave-taking. He rubbed his hand over Danny’s short hair and left it standing in sweat-stiffened ridges. “I’m not mad at her. As I told you before, the Zimmermans have a big family and extra people just get in the way.”

  “Okay.”

  Thankfully, Danny seemed ready to rest the topic of eating with the Zimmermans. Paul started up the steps.

  “Dad, can I ask you something else?”

  Paul opened the front door and ushered his son over the threshold. “What’s that?”

  “Jay thinks his aunt and his cousin Alexa are pretty nice. He doesn’t like his dad being mad, and he wants to find out what kind of trouble his aunt caused so he can help fix it. Do you know what happened? So I can tell Jay, and he can help his dad not be mad anymore?”

  Paul offered a silent prayer for wisdom before answering. “Danny, the ‘trouble’ isn’t anything Jay can fix, and it isn’t something he should worry about. You tell him I said so. You can also tell him I’ll talk to his dad—see if I can help him not be mad anymore, okay?”

  Danny nodded, his face serious. “Sure, Dad. I’ll tell him.”

  “Now …” Paul forced a smile. “Go change out of your church clothes. I’ll make up some sandwiches and grab a couple bananas or apples and those cupcakes Alexa sent home with me yesterday, and we’ll take our lunch to the park. Sound good?”

  Danny galloped off, releasing a happy shout.

  Paul retrieved bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and mustard, and laid it all out. But instead of assembling sandwiches, he propped the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter and bowed his head. Lord, I wish I’d known how one mistake can create so many issues. I wish I’d been wiser back then, less selfish. It hurt to know that even Jay—who wasn’t born when he and Suzy suffered their lapse of judgment—was affected by the choice made so long ago. Help me set things right again. With all the Zimmermans. Amen.

  Paul left Danny with one of his school friends for the day. Partly to make up for denying him the company of friends yesterday, and partly to keep him from overhearing what he planned to tell Clete. He’d given his son a message to deliver to Jay, but he didn’t want any added embellishments.

  When he arrived at the Zimmerman farm, Clete’s truck was already parked beside the barn, so Paul shut off the engine of his pickup, said another quick prayer for courage—he might as well be wearing a yellow stripe down his back the way he quivered inside—and then headed for the barn.

  Clete was at the workbench in the back corner, tinkering with … something. Paul knew carpentry tools as well as the ABCs, but anything mechanical left him scratching his head. He sidled close. “Hey.”

  Clete glanced at him. “Hey yourself.”

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  Clete thunked the wrench onto the worktable and swished his palms together. “Might as well. I think this is a lost cause.”

  Paul frowned at the clump of metal pieces held together with bands and screws. “What is it?”

  “Carburetor from the riding mower. I hoped to overhaul it, but I can’t even get it apart. Some of the pieces are rusted together.”

  Paul looked at the engine part again and chuckled. “I think I’ll stick to overhauling kitchens.”

  Clete released a snort of amusement and shook his head. Leaning against the sturdy workbench, he folded his arms over his chest. “Did you have a question about the kitchen?”

  “No.” Paul pulled in a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Suzy.”

  Clete clamped his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

  Paul pressed on. “You’re mad at her. For leaving and staying away. Maybe even mad at her for trying to find a nurse to take care of your mom instead of sticking around to do it herself.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well …” Paul rocked back on his heels. “I think maybe you’re mad at the wrong person. Instead of being mad at Suzy, you should be mad at me.”

  Clete’s forehead crunched into a series of furrows. “Why you?”

  “Suzy left Arborville to get away from me.”

  Clete shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense. I was just a kid, but I remember you two going off fishing or bike riding or catching frogs. I remember because you were always telling me to scat. I always kind of figured you two would end up together.”

  Paul had always kind of figured that, too. But he’d had a good life with Karina—he loved her, and they had Danny. He didn’t regret the life he carved after Suzy left. “I know. We were close. Maybe … too close.” He hoped Clete might read between the lines so he wouldn’t be forced to come right out and say what he’d done. It was hard enough just to hint. At least the morning sun hadn’t lit the barn’s interior too much yet. Paul’s face was on fire, but hopefully Clete wouldn’t notice the telltale flush of embarrassment.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Paul ducked his head. So much for hints. He met Clete’s gaze again. “Suzy and I … we went too far one night.”

  Clete’s eyes widened. “You …”

  Paul nodded. “After that night she wouldn’t talk to me or see me. And then she left for Indiana. I’m pretty sure she went because she was ashamed of what we’d done, and being in the same town with me was too hard for her.” He couldn’t bring himself to share his other fears about how Suzy must have conducted herself when she reached Indiana. Clete didn’t need to form the kind of pictures in his head that tormented Paul late at night.

  Clete stared at Paul in silence for several tense minutes, his expression unreadable. Suddenly he jerked upright. “When?”

  “When … what?”

  “When did you”—Clete ground the words past gritted teeth—“lay with my sister?”

  Could Paul’s face get any hotter without him spontaneously combusting? “I don’t remember.”

  “Think!” He barked the order, his neck and cheeks mottling with bold red. He might combust before Paul did. “January? June? March? When was it?”

  Paul thought back. He’d tried so hard to bury the details of that time, recalling specifics proved difficult. He raised his shoulders in a slow shrug. “I can’t be sure, but … early spring, I think.”

  “You think? Or you know?”

  Paul thought hard. The snows had melted, but it was still pretty cool. He remembered Suzy shivering and him offering her his jacket as they walked to the barn. He nodded. “Early spring.”

  Clete’s expression turned hard. He balled his hands into fists. “You got my sister—” A growl covered whatever else he’d started to say. With a roar, he lunged at Paul and knocked him flat on his back on the hard ground.

  The air whooshed from his lungs, and he couldn’t even defend himself when Clete straddled him and plowed his fi
st into his jaw. Clete cocked his arm to deliver a second blow, but someone shrieked. He leaped up and strode to the corner, leaving Paul lying on the barn floor gasping for breath.

  Alexa darted close and leaned over him. “Mr. Aldrich, are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” He lied. His jaw ached so badly, speaking was torture. He needed to get up, but he wasn’t sure he should move yet.

  “Should I get Mom?”

  “No!” Both Paul and Clete barked the reply.

  Alexa looked from one man to the other, confusion clouding her face.

  Paul cupped his cheek and rolled sideways. With some struggling, he managed to sit up. His tailbone hurt as badly as his jaw. For a farmer, Clete sure packed a wallop. Paul hoped he hadn’t suffered any broken bones. How would he explain to the doctor how he’d gotten hurt? Mennonites were nonviolent. Or so everyone thought.

  Alexa held both hands to Paul, and although it stung his pride, he allowed her to tug him to his feet. Concern glimmering in her dark eyes, she kept a grip on him even after he’d proven his legs would support him. She sent curious glances toward both men and sucked on her lower lip. Paul almost laughed, observing her obvious attempt to stifle any questions. What must she be thinking behind those big eyes of hers?

  Clete stalked across the floor, and Paul instinctively tensed, preparing for another assault. But Clete pounded past, growling over his shoulder, “Let’s go get that paint, Alexa, so I can be back here by noon.” He stormed out of the barn.

  Alexa gawked after him. Her hands, still holding on to Paul, trembled.

  “You better go.”

  She looked up, her mouth slightly ajar. “Why were you fighting?”

  “It’s nothing important. Just something that happened a long time ago.”

  “It must’ve been something awful for him to go after you like that. I know Uncle Clete isn’t exactly Mr. Sociable, but I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  Paul replayed the brief exchange with Clete, trying to recall exactly why his friend had turned on him. His head pounded, making it difficult to think, but slowly both spoken and unspoken communications came together. Could it be … Squeezing Alexa’s hands, he rasped a question. “Alexa, how old are you?”